Bottle
by katydidit
Summary: How many times had she watched her mother from the shadows, as she sat at the kitchen table with a bottle of anything she could find, slur drunkenly at the walls about how her life was crap? Oliviott Friendship.


AN: Urm…yep. My very first Law and Order: SVU fic. Please…be gentle?

Disclaimer:

Knock knock.  
_Who's there?_  
Not mine.  
_Not mine who?_  
…

**Bottle**

Life was black.

Olivia Benson gave a self-deprecating snort at the thought that flashed, unbidden, through her mind. It fit, in a satirical sort of way. How many times had she watched her mother from the shadows, as she sat at the kitchen table with a bottle of anything she could find, slur drunkenly at the walls about how her life was shit? Even as a teenager, the pages of her diary were out-angsted by her mother's alcohol-induced epiphanies.

Now here she was, quite a bit more than a decade later, spouting secondhand revelations into a half-empty bottle of cheap beer. She was tempted to wave her consciousness away, and descend into the bitter, amber-colored liquid in front of her. After all, there were no child molesters inside that bottle, no children left in back alleys to bleed to death. A serial rapist had been released today. His preference had been six-year-olds—he'd lure them away from their unsuspecting parents and brutalize them, then leave their defenseless little bodies lying on the ground, bleeding from dozens of wounds. The case had been a sure conviction, until his attorney found a loophole in the law system that let him off, all because Olivia hadn't followed some obsolete guideline that even the judge had only heard about in passing. He was out there again tonight, probably planning his next attack.

Olivia drowned the images and self-disgust in another wave of the liquid gold, cringing. She'd seen her mother go to the bottle plenty of times, deeming it her only true friend. The memories and hatred made it difficult for her to enjoy her trip into oblivion. The self-disgust from the case that she was attempting to eliminate, was quickly being replaced by self-disgust for turning into her mother. But at least the only child the alcoholic had ever let down had been Olivia, and she was still alive to tell the tale. The children Olivia had failed were dead, without justice. There were more children out there, just waiting-without even knowing it-to be attacked and murdered by that man.

The bastard had had the nerve to wink at her as he left the courtroom. He'd shot her a victorious, smug little smile! She shook her head, imagining the damage she could do to his face with the bottle in her hand, if only she slammed it against the table at the correct angle. Almost without realizing it, she'd lifted her hand and was resting the bottle on the side of the table, judging the strength with which she'd have to hit it in order to get the pointiest edges. She snapped out of her vengeful imaginings with a mirthless chuckle, placing the bottle on the table and looking around the dimly-lit bar. There were two other people around—two round-bellied, middle-aged men sitting at the bar, long gone. Their blurry gazes were wandering around the room, but never so much as landed on her. She'd decided that she liked the place-not even the bartender acknowledged her presence, except for a disappointed glance after she'd paid for her cheap bottle of beer.

The door opened, and a man walked in. Her eyes closed, and she slid low into the booth, trying to hide herself. She didn't need him around to remind her of her failure tonight. Elliot was a good partner, and a great friend, but right now his very face reflected the bastard's face, simply because of the fact that El had been sitting next to her at the trial. Hopefully he'd take a seat at the counter and she could sneak away while his back was turned. The alcohol wasn't helping her to forget anything, anyway-maybe the abyss of infomercials and late-night television would. She sure as hell wasn't getting any sleep tonight.

But she had no such luck. Immediately, Olivia felt her partner's sharp, clear eyes on her face, then heard him slide into the booth across from her. She sighed deeply, opening her eyes to look at him. He was evaluating her steadily, and she felt the urge to sit up straight—to not let him see her slouch. His eyes landed on the bottle in front of her, and he arched an eyebrow, questioning.

"It's my first one," she said defensively, knocking it away. "I'm not drunk."

"Never said you were," he answered, face softening. "You okay?"

What kind of question was that? A stupid one, that's what it was. "Yeah, El," she said. "I'm fine. What do I care if that sick bastard got off because I didn't do something that no one's done in decades, huh? Why would I feel anything but joy at the thought that he's probably out there with another baby right now?" She knew that unloading her self-loathing on her partner wasn't fair, but she couldn't stop herself. The alcohol had loosened her just enough to make her not care about 'fair' anymore. "I'm perfectly fine with the fact that the judge sided with a murderer and his prick of an attorney over the NYPD and seven murdered children. I'm out celebrating right now, can't you tell?" She pressed her head to her forehead, unable to look at her partner after such a performance.

"Liv, this wasn't your fault," he said, sitting forward. She scoffed.

"Yeah, okay. You want to say that when the appeals start rolling in, and more murderers and rapists that we've put away, are set free because of this?" she demanded, glaring up at him.

"They won't get released," he said, sounding sure of himself. "We're going to fight that, and everyone knows that murder is more serious than you forgetting about some shit-picky little detail that no one's even heard of. It's not that big, Liv." He grabbed her hand across the table, squeezing it gently. "It's going to be okay."

"Whatever," she said, pulling her hand back and standing up. Her eyes rested on the bottle on the table, as she briefly considered draining the last of her beer before she left. She felt Elliot's even gaze on her, and she met his eyes. "I'm not my mother," she whispered, unsure of who exactly she was trying to convince. He nodded slightly, not blinking as he stood.

"I know you're not," he said quietly.

"Then why did I let those kids down?" she demanded softly. The mood had changed somehow, allowing no words louder than a whisper. "Why did I let you down? Why did I fail?" Her eyes burned, but she refused to let the tears make their presence known. Elliot seemed to decide that the danger of her running off had passed, and stepped forward to take her into his arms. She flinched at the unexpected touch, but he was not deterred, didn't let her go.

"You didn't fail, Liv," he said into her ear, gentle but firm. "You are one of the best cops I have ever met. When this guy does this again, we'll nail him, and this time we won't leave any way for him to get out of it. We're gonna get him."

For just a moment, Olivia considered falling into him, letting herself cry in the arms of her best friend. But that moment passed, and she knew he could feel it—the exact moment when she became herself again, when her protective wall returned. He let her go, and she stepped back, to re-establish her comfort zone.

"Walk you home?" he asked, offering his arm. She nodded slightly, sliding her arm through his, and they walked out the door, into the night and away from the bottle that sat on the table.


End file.
